


Encounter

by MaskedBrunette (DrownedRedhead)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Native Reader, Nightmares, Ojibway Reader, Original Character Death(s), Past Relationship(s), Reader of Colour, Sexual Undertones, plot heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2018-11-06 03:26:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11027631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrownedRedhead/pseuds/MaskedBrunette
Summary: As infamous as he is, even the Reaper is still just a man.





	1. Chapter 1

You have missed the bus. Of course. It is not often you are called upon to visit the offices where you technically work; as their best programmer you've been given permission to work from home. The next bus doesn't get here for another hour - God only knows why - which is how long it will take you to walk, if you hurry.

 

Huddling out of the wind in the bus stop, you fumble with your phone. Pulling it out, you groan in frustration. Of course it's negative ten Fahrenheit! While you don't hate the cold, you could do with it never getting into negatives. Sighing, you shove your hands in the pockets of your heavy coat and pull the mask of your hood up.

 

You have lived in this cold all your life and you know that despite your heavy winter coat - arguably too heavy for only the beginning of September - and thick jeans, the cold will have you if you stop moving.

 

You put your head down to cut the wind and trudge home. It's a path you know well. During the warmer months you always walk, everywhere. It's how you've decided to keep in relatively good shape considering the crap you eat and your long days of sitting and coding.

 

So intent upon not letting the wind freeze your eyes out of your skull are you that you don't notice the man until you walk right into him. You stumble back a step, beginning to apologize, then look up.

 

First, you notice the mask. Then, in a rush you register that you are face to face with a wanted criminal, a killer, a mercenary. The Reaper. He doesn't seem inclined to kill you for bumping into him, in fact he almost appears apologetic for bumping into you. Even the Reaper is just a man, you suppose.

 

In the next moment you are registering where you are - minutes from home - and the sounds of search coming from several blocks away. He seems to catch your eye and you can't help but notice the guns in his jacket.

 

Someone shouts. You grab his arm without thinking and pull him into an alley, going back out only to obscure your boot prints. God only knows why you are hit with the instinct to help a serial killer, but you're instincts have served you well so far.

 

“I'll take you in the back way to my apartment,” you tell him. You wait, making sure you're both around the corner out of sight of the street. He steps closer and tilts your face up closer to his, gaze boring into your skull. He sees something then nods.

 

“Be quick about it,” he tells you and you can't help but chuckle, though the low gravel of his voice shoots through you like fire.

 

“Okay, but I'm not helping you clean up any bodies,” you reply just as grumpily. You watch the shock at your words wash through him with satisfaction.

 

You hurry. The back alleys aren't well traversed but the snow really stays on the rooftops this early in the season, leaving your passage mostly unmarked.

 

You stop in front of a large fence before a turn off into the main street; a maintenance alley in essence. You heave yourself up to unlatch the fence that is clearly not meant to be opened from this side. You have to pull it open but once you have a grip it slides right open and you usher the man through, relatching the gate behind you both.

 

This back area is lightly dusted with snow so you walk along the edges of the fence and the building. He doesn't, instead his body becomes insubstantial and he simply phazes over to the only door, somehow managing to look smug. You make a face at him and punch in the override code to allow entrance through this door if you're dumb enough to forget the door auto locks upon being closed.

 

You slip through into what is basically a boiler room mixed with a loading bay. Another door leads up into the main stairway of the apartment complex. Rather than start towards the door, you stomp snow off your boots and take off your coat, shaking the snow off of it. This area is colder than your apartment to be sure, but not only warmer than outside but out of the wind. He doesn't do either of those things, opting to stare at you thoughtfully instead.

 

“Something for you?” You snap, that intent stare making you uncomfortable. He says nothing for a moment, letting the tension stretch.

 

“Why did you do this?”

 

Again a shot of fire runs down your spine when he speaks. You shrug to mask the shudder his voice causes.

 

“I had a feeling.”

 

“A feeling,” he says skeptically. You can feel disapproval radiating off of him. Is he worried you might help a less polite murderer?

 

You laugh and put your hand up, you raise one finger.

 

“Feeling one. I startled and interested you too much for you to kill me.”

 

Another finger.

 

“You seem like you're kind of a jerk but not a total twat.”

 

Another.

 

“Last, you could have killed me and left, but you followed me, meaning one of two things. I know which I prefer but honestly I'm ready for death should you choose.”

 

You weren't sure what he was expecting but whatever it was, it wasn't what you had said. He is silent and unmoving for a moment, then takes his jacket off and shakes out the snow. You smile and head for the door into the stairway.

 

Immediately upon opening your door you are assaulted by your cat. The fool animal comes tearing down the hall and leaps up into your chest, forcing you to stumble back a step. You grumble in fake irritation, wrapping your arms around your cat and kicking the door closed.

 

“Hey sweetie. I wasn't gone that long. Are you out of food? Yeah, that's it isn't it,” you say into the cat's fur.

 

“Sit for a sec while I feed my cat,” you instruct the man. He waits patiently in the kitchenette area of your small apartment.

 

It's not tiny, just big enough for you, the cat, and all your computer equipment. There's a short hall separating the kitchen and living areas from your bedroom and bathroom. On the mid shelf of one of the bookcases in your room is a clear shelf with only a bowl of cat food and of water on the shelf. You pull the bag of catfood out from under your bed and refill the bowl.

 

You return to find him standing in front of a painting hanging in the small area between kitchenette and living area. A beautiful, stylistic piece of a person joining the two halves of the painting with a  large purple shirt that flows into the starscape on the bottom half and golden hair that creates the sun of the blue sky in the top half. Over the face the word UNSTOPPABLE is painted in black calligraphy. Presumably, he is staring at it.

 

“Beautiful, isn't it?” You comment, apparently startling him given the tiny jerk of his shoulder. You walk up beside him and reach out, hovering a hand over the canvas carefully. “I'd be heartbroken if I lost it. It's the only piece I'm truly proud of.”

 

“You made this?”

 

“I did. For my ex’s memorial,” you reply, dropping your hand and turning away. “Want any tea?”

 

The sudden change in topic catches him off guard but he says nothing. There is no use forcing you to speak of something you don't wish to when it's obvious you have mostly healed. When he says nothing, you glance back at him, already putting water on to boil.

 

“I've got all kinds of tea. David's was having a sale and I can't say no to on sale loose leaf. I've also got a lot of hot chocolate,” you offer, pulling your favourite mug down from the cabinet. You pause with the cabinet door open, waiting.

 

It's been such a long time since anyone just offered him something to drink like it was nothing.

 

“Sure,” he says finally.

 

“Come see what I've got,” you say, jerking your head towards the pantry. He feels strange standing in your kitchen. Not because he's in some stranger's kitchen, but because for the first time in a long time, he feels almost human, comforted by the strange domesticity you offer. He drops a can of powdered dark chocolate mix on the counter beside the water kettle and you nod.

 

“What is your name?” He asks you after a long moment of awkward silence. You pull the kettle off it's heat and pour boiling water into two mugs. You stir the chocolate mix into the water and set it in front of him.

 

“Do you plan on knowing me long enough for it to matter?” You counter, timing the steep of your tea in silence. He frowns behind the mask, tapping the talon of one glove against the counter.

 

“Maybe.”

 

You smile crookedly, glancing at him sidelong before giving your name. He only nods thoughtfully while he watches you fish the leaves from your tea. He isn't expecting you to turn your back on him, sitting up on the bar with your tea in hand. As clearly as if you had told him, he knows you won't try to watch him, see him without the mask.

 

Emotion hits him so hard he almost cracks the mug as his grip instinctively tightens. He hasn't been treated with such casual respect and honest humanity for years even before his death and here is this stranger offering understanding as naturally as breathing. He pushes the mask up and savours the taste of chocolate.

 

He is gone when you turn to collect the now empty mug. You had expected this; you hadn't expected to wonder if he would ever return. There had been a strength in his arm when you touched him and a confidence to his straight back that reminded you how long it's been.

 

With a sigh to force such notions out of your mind, you put the dishes in the washer and resign yourself to a night of the coding you should have been doing instead of sitting in meetings all day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while. Wasn't sure if I was going to add anything tbh. I've got a little plot line now so. I guess there's going to be more whoops

A daily occurrence in your apartment is the cat waking you from your place half sprawled at your desk by walking on your back. Cat isn’t very heavy, but the sharp points of his claws in your back never fail to startle you awake.

 

Today you are woken by both a knock on your door and your cat meowing at you to let him out of your room. You sigh and stand, hearing your back and knees crack loudly as you move. Cat winds around your ankles as you walk out of your room, nearly tripping you twice.

 

Whatever you were expecting to see outside your apartment, this is not it. For a moment you think you’re dreaming. You stare at Reaper silently for a long moment, trying to reconcile the masked murderer with the masked nerd in a hoodie standing in front of you. Finally, you step aside, silently inviting him into your apartment.

 

He walks past you and honestly you’re astounded by how normal he looks in jeans and a black hoodie. He still has the mask and for a wild moment you wonder if it’s screwed on or something. You close the door behind him and he still hasn’t said anything.

 

“Something to drink?” You offer, figuring it worked last week. He nods and looks at you in a way that makes you think he’s smiling. The idea of him smiling at you almost makes you blush and you don’t like that one bit. He follows you into the kitchenette area and sits at the bar/counter area, watching you fetch mugs and rummage in the cupboards.

 

“What brings you by?” You ask nonchalantly, hoping your voice doesn’t give away how much you want him to say that he’d been thinking about you. Honestly, how much you want him to think about you is making you uncomfortable, not least because he’s a damn serial killer. It’s just that you can’t forget how human he’d been around you.

 

Working with mercenaries and killers was nothing new to you. Some were kind, ordinary people with a demanding job. More were husks of humans, nothing left inside but the job. Yet, despite his reputation, Reaper had not been like that. The way he’d held a hand up just so slightly when you bumped into each other, as if to help you if you stumbled; the way he’d been so disapproving of you helping a wanted criminal, stuck with you.

 

“Why did you help me?” He asks. Right to the point, you think, smiling a little.

 

“I told you,” you reply, dumping a tablespoon of hot chocolate mix into a mug a little more aggressively than necessary.

 

“No,” he says, and you can hear him frowning, trying to articulate exactly what he means. You hesitate then pause, setting the tablespoon in the powder canister.

 

He doesn’t expect the look of indifference on your face when you turn to him. “I’m bored,” you say with a nonchalance that implies much more than your words. You love your job, but the apathy you feel towards life has been weighing on you and when the opportunity to shake things up presented itself, your impulse was to seize it.

 

_ I’m ready for death, should you choose it. _

 

He understands.

 

“I think this is what medications and therapy are for,” he says finally. You shrug, suddenly very uncomfortable, and return to dumping powder into the mug. “Not that I’m one to judge,” he adds quietly, seeming to understand that he’s upset you. You can’t help but smile a little.

 

Again, you sit on the counter with your back to him, allowing him to comfortably drink the hot chocolate you’ve prepared for him. You sit in a heavy but not uncomfortable silence for a long time. You hear him put the mug down, but still feel him behind you.

 

“Why did you come back?” You ask, nonchalance replaced by sincerity.

 

“I needed to understand,” he tells you, frowning at the mug.

 

“So, this is the last time I’ll be seeing you?” You had tried to make it sound off hand, just confirming a thought, but you can feel the way your heart tightens. You’re lonely, even with the cat. It’s nice making drinks for someone else.

 

The tightness in your voice catches him off guard, and he clenches his hands in his lap, telling himself that he can’t have relationships, not now, not until he’s gotten his revenge and not like this; every person is a potential weakness, a wound.

 

“What, would you miss me?” He teases despite himself. You shrug and grin at him sidelong.

 

“I did go out and buy more of the nice dark chocolate stuff,” you say, feeling a little better. That wasn’t the coldly professional tone of a man who intended to break all contact. “It’s not expensive but I never drink it, so I’d hate it to go to waste.”

 

Reaper says nothing for a long moment, berating himself for letting himself get attached to someone he just met, attached to someone who made him feel like a person, a human, like Gabriel again. He makes a face under the mask.

 

“I do like the dark chocolate,” he admits finally, staring down at the mug. It’s orange pottery, glazed to fade to a light pink at the bottom. It’s a nice weight because of the thick pottery, but it’s a little lumpy. He wants to ask if you made it but the question gets stuck in his throat because when he looks up at you, he can’t think.

 

You’re head is turned so you can glance at him sidelong through one eye. You can’t really see him at this angle, but you can see he’s there, head down. The mask is still pushed up, you think, but mostly you see his hair, shaggy curls over the white blur of his mask. You let out a soft breath as the urge to dig your fingers in his hair almost overwhelms you.

 

Instead, you hop down off the counter to put your mug in the sink. You pass a hand over your own hair, thick and not anywhere near brushed. It’s been two days since you’ve changed clothes aside from your underwear. You also haven’t eaten in hours.

 

“Uh, want any breakfast?” You ask after a second, opening the fridge. You bend to look in the fridge and sigh, realising it might be time to get groceries. “I don’t have much.” You close the fridge, trying to remember if you were out of poptarts or not, and which cupboard they’d be in. Reaper watches you rummage through the cupboards, noticing that you already seem to have forgotten him in your interest in eating.

 

“What do you do? For work,” he asks suddenly, propping his chin on one hand comfortably. You’re in the middle of finding a thing of poptarts, probably stale, in the way back of one cupboard. You pull the box out and look at him.

 

“What?”

 

“A job.”

 

“Oh.” Instead of an actual response, you rip open the poptart foil and shove them into the toaster. You remember there’s chocolate milk in the fridge. You pour a glass and lean against the counter. “I’m a programmer. I’m best with encryption programs and active firewalls. It’s like writing choose your own adventure books sometimes,” you laugh.

 

Reaper doesn’t know much about programming, but he nods, seeing the spark of light in your eyes of someone who loves their job. “What’s an active firewall?”

 

You hadn’t expected him to ask once he knew what you do, but the question warms your heart a little. You sit up on the counter, crossing your ankles as you sip on your chocolate milk. “Firewalls are protection against hackers. Most are passive, they’re just supposed to be hard. Active firewalls are the hardest to get past because the program is written to actually fight back against hackers, adapting to different strategies. They’re not infallible, but most hackers will bail out if they see an active firewall. Even some first rate hackers bail out if they recognise that it’s one of mine,” you finish. There’s pride in your voice and you have no reason to hide it. You are proud of being good. Reaper only nods, taking your word for it.

 

You’ve finished your milk and are halfway through the second poptart when he stands suddenly. You glance over, expecting him to just be getting ready to leave. Instead he’s staring at you through the mask. You blink at him in confusion before offering him the last half of your poptart sincerely. You can’t see the contortions his face is making behind the mask as he tries not to laugh but you can hear it in his voice when he chokes out a refusal.

 

“You keep it. I just realised I have to go I just,” he pauses and turns away from you, starting towards the door, “don’t know when I’ll be back.” He shrugs and reaches for the door.

 

“Wait,” you interrupt. He pauses but doesn’t turn back to you, waiting.

 

You aren’t used to hesitating. Programming of the type you specialise in requires a certain type of person to be as good at it as you are, someone shifty but direct. You are direct. You don’t hide your emotions when there’s no point, you charge forward towards what you want. Still, you hesitate.

 

It takes everything you have to take that first step. You might be rejected. Step. He might never return. Step. You closed yourself off after the funeral, it’ll be hard to open up again. Step You take a deep breath as you reach him. He turns his head to look at you. You smile and carefully kiss the mask.

 

“For good luck,” you explain. He nods and presses his forehead against yours gently, returning the gesture.

 

Then he’s gone in a rush of black smoke. You let out a long breath and return to work, shaking thoughts of him out of your head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is. pls don't expect these to be on any schedule.

It has been exactly five months since you met the Reaper. Not that life has been much different now. Your days are still mostly you looking harried and strung out on coffee while sitting at your desk writing code, mostly for work, sometimes for fun. Also yelling. There’s a lot of yelling, usually at the code, sometimes at yourself. Yet, it feels different. Not as lonely, though he doesn’t come around all that much, and he’s not very talkative. It’s just nice knowing he’s out there.

 

A week into your friendship, he’d casually given you his contact information. You never called each other, but whenever he got back from a hard job, you get a message. Not long, nothing heartfelt, just “have a good day” or “sleep well”. You didn’t know at first why he would occasionally message you, until searching through news outlets you came across an article detailing the kidnap and brutal murder of some scientist. You have articles of sightings of the Reaper flagged now.

 

About two weeks ago, you gave him the guest code to get into your room. Not because he needed it, but because your phone alerts you every time it’s used. You asked him to use it and instead of laughing it off because you both know he can get in without it, he nodded, promised he would. It made you feel like you truly had a friend again.

 

Right now, you are taking a walk. It’s cold, sure, but it’s a reasonably sunny day and you like your coat. You needed to clear your head and a chilly walk to see the Halloween decorations people are starting to put up seemed perfect. There’s one piece of code you’re working on the keeps coming up with “unknown error” and it was pissing you off until you couldn’t concentrate. So instead, you walk and reminisce; your partner had liked Halloween.

 

Someone yells down the street and you look up, watching two boys and a tiny girl, one of their sisters probably, playing basketball. You stop to watch, not wanting to interrupt by walking past. Despite being ridiculously young, the little girl is holding her own against the two older boys, though they’re not going as easy on her as perhaps they’ll say they were later. They’re shouting and laughing and it’s bittersweet to you.

 

You pull out your phone, partially so as not to look like a creep just standing there watching some kids, and scroll through your notifications. A few more sightings of Reaper, a text from a friend/co-worker, mostly shitposting on various social media. You’re about to sigh and put your phone away when your home alarm system informs you that the guest code has been used. You text Reaper.

 

_ i’m watching these kids play in the street and you know all i can think? why aren’t they wearing jackets. not “oh that’s cute kids playing with their sister” or anything. is this what getting old is? _

 

It’s not entirely true and you simply hadn’t wanted to reveal that your home security system alerts you for pretty much everything, but you had noticed that they were only wearing snow boots and long sleeves. You check the temperature and shake your head.

 

You skirt past the kids and the little girl waves at you and calls out a greeting. The boys look up and wave too, a little more cautiously. Growing up makes you more suspicious of strangers, you suppose.You pause to smile at them.

 

“Do you three have any idea what temp it is right now? Go get jackets,” you tell them. It’s not stern, despite the words, instead you sound both amused and wistful, and there’s a tiny smile playing across your lips.

 

“Psh, you can’t play basketball in winter coats,” one of the boys says, bouncing the ball against the pavement.

 

“Wanna bet?” You say before you can stop yourself, raising an eyebrow at the kid. He looks like he wants to accept, but shakes his head.

 

“You’re too tall, we couldn’t give you a real fight,” he says, and you know that he’s rightfully wary of an adult offering to play with them.

 

“Tell you what, I live in the apartment building two streets over. Come get me in a couple years when you’ve got some height on you. I’ll give you a run for your money you won’t soon forget. I might not look it, but I am pretty good,” you add, chuckling. The three of them laugh and the little girl you waves again as you walk away.

 

What on earth had possessed you to actually talk to them? They couldn’t be more than twelve, and the little girl had to be like six or seven. Still, you don’t regret it. It had been nice. Kids, while you aren’t particularly fond of them extremely young, were simple, straight-forward. You sigh again and pull out your phone as you turn the corner.

 

_ Maybe they intended to work up a sweat _

 

You snort and shove your phone in your pocket, increasing your pace as you see your apartment building come into view. You wonder if Reaper’s phone auto-capitalises the first letter in a text or if he had made a conscious decision.

 

There’s a code to get into the building and each room has a separate code to enter both the building and the rooms. Some rooms have guest codes but most people don’t bother. You’ve partially revamped the security in your room, connecting it to your personal server and the various personal security items around your apartment.

 

So, you punch in your personal code for your door and greet Cat, who is sitting on the end table where you keep your wallet and things. You take off your coat and toss it onto the hook on the back of the front door, kicking off your boots.

 

Cat is upset, meowing at you angrily. You frown at him then realise he doesn’t like anyone coming in when you’re not here. You’ve half on accident trained yourself a guard cat by rescuing a stray and nursing him back to health. You sigh and gather Cat into your arms, letting him scramble up onto your shoulders.

 

“He’s been yowling at me for the past few minutes,” Reaper tells you, sticking his head out of the kitchenette. He’s made himself a cup of hot chocolate in the orange mug you gave him the first couple times that he seems to have claimed now. You nod and pet his head gently. Cat has calmed now that you’re home and not upset, but he’s still glaring at Reaper.

 

“Sweetie, you’ve seen him before,” you whisper to Cat soothingly. “It’s okay. He’s a friend,” you continue, carefully unlatching him from your shoulders and offering him to Reaper. He reaches around to set the mug down and just as carefully offers his arms to Cat. “Friend,” you repeat calmly and he understands. Probably not your words but the tone of voice and the friendly way Reaper is acting.

 

Once Cat is in his arms, you and Reaper end up lounging on the sofa. He’s taken his shoes off and his hoodie. He’s still wearing a turtleneck sweater and jeans, but it’s taken him this long to get comfortable enough to take off his shoes even. You’d frowned at him when he approached your carpet with his shoes on, so he’s only recently been allowed in the living room. You sit and watch T.V. together. More specifically, you toss Reaper the controls and watch him blankly, thinking.

 

Even after being interested in you, after everything, he’s tense. He was always tense, but he was especially uncomfortable today, flipping through channels unable to concentrate on anything for too long. It had taken you two weeks to get him to take his shoes off in your apartment, you’d be damned if you were going to let anything set you back.

 

“Hey, wanna see something cool?” You offer suddenly, reaching over to scratch Cat’s head.

 

“Sure?” He replies, sounding bemused at the surprise change in subject. When he starts to rise, Cat jumps off his lap and meows in irritation at being bumped from his nap. You lead Reaper down the hallway to your bedroom, making him hesitate when you open the door. You wave a hand dismissively at his embarrassment.

 

“C’mere,” you urge, tossing open your closet. He shrugs, walks in, and looks around.

 

Your bedroom is something like scarce. Only the bed and set of drawers are not tech set up. One whole wall is various screens and he recognises some of them from Sombra’s workspace, he thinks. The touch screens are different and there’s four different keyboards compared to Sombra’s physically integrated system, but she has a few of the same things.

 

The closet takes his attention. More screens, showing the apartment building inside and out and several buildings around it, as well as a building that he recognises as actually quite a bit away. There’s one screen and keyboard in the middle of the wall and a box under those.

 

“A system of security cameras?” He asks, not particularly impressed, though for a civilian this kind of setup is complex.

 

“Not just cameras,” you explain, grinning and tapping at the keyboard to pull schematics of the building. “Look, I’ve got a whole system wired up around my room and the floors above and below me. It’s all right here,” you finish, patting the box that he recognises now as an unusually large computer tower.

 

“Tell me about it,” he says, crossing his arms. He’s unsure why you wanted to show this to him, you hadn't known each other all that long after all, but as you animatedly explain about the various sensors and traps, the closed server, and other things he only barely understands but that sound like something he’d find at the various Talon quarters.

 

“Tell you something, this little baby has saved my life before. It’s got everything I need on it and it’s virtually unhackable because it doesn’t connect to any internet except mine,” you say, chuckling. “I could replace it, sure, but the chassis has been with me through some scary times.”

 

“Like what?” He challenges, grinning under his mask. You chuckle and turn your face away as you close the closet doors.

 

“Oh, you know,” you begin, waving a hand dismissively, “college, moving out, getting my first job, whatever. Life is scary,” you finish. You’re laughing as you turn back to him but there’s nothing but quiet sadness in your eyes. He’s touched a sore spot and he regrets it immediately.

 

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly. In a heavy silence, you go back to the sofa, flopping down. Reaper sits beside you and you can see that he’s more relaxed. You smile and prop your feet up on the coffee table. You sit and flip through channels in a comfortable silence now.


	4. Chapter 4

Napping, you’ve decided, is going to be a critical part of your daily routine from now on. You aren’t even entirely asleep, just laying on your back on the sofa petting the cat stretched out on your stomach. It’s nice to just lay down, and listening to Cat purr is soothing.

 

You can hear someone out the door, but since Cat is still purring on your tummy, you assume it’s Reaper. This is confirmed when your phone buzzes on the coffee table and the door opens. Instead of saying anything, you yawn and stretch your arms over your head. You hear Reaper’s footsteps come towards you.

 

“Hey there,” Reaper says, seeming amused, leaning over the back of the sofa to look at you and Cat. You smile up at him.

 

“Good afternoon,” you reply, reaching up towards him sleepily. You don’t touch him, instead letting your arm drop back down onto the arm of the sofa. He is quiet, just watching you. You couldn’t possibly know that he’s blushing because he realised he’d wanted to feel your skin, had wanted you to touch his mask and make him feel loved.

 

“Usually you’re working. Having a day off or something?” He asks, crossing his arms on the back of the sofa comfortably.

 

“Mm, had a long night. Figured I deserved a nice nap.”

 

“Don’t you always have long nights?”

 

“Fair enough,” you admit, laughing and closing your eyes again. “Not like this. Someone tried to hack me last night. Got through to my second dummy, but couldn’t fight my firewalls and me into my actual system. It was fun but exhausting.”

 

Reaper says nothing, because he knows little of hacking. He only nods and stays there, looking at you silently. You smile sleepily, relaxing into the silence. You don’t think you’ll ever tell him that you know it was Sombra, that you know no one else could get quite that far into your systems so quickly.

 

“You can sit, you know,” you tell him, not opening your eyes. He snorts and looks around at cramped, sparce living room.

 

“Where?”

 

You think for a moment, then wrap your arms around Cat and sit up enough to let him sit. He considers, understanding that if he sits, you’re going to lay back down onto his lap. You still haven’t opened your eyes. This could be dangerous, getting so close to you that he’s comfortable like this with you. He sits.

 

You’re a little surprised when you feel his weight beside you, the slight heat of his body on your back, having expected him to laugh at you and make you sit up regularly. You hesitate a moment, then lay back down, settling comfortably half in his lap. Humming contentedly, you feel him reach over to scratch the cat’s head.

 

“Are you a dog person or a cat person?” You ask him, turning your head to rest it in the crook between his thigh and his torso. It’s nice, feeling his thigh under your head. He takes a moment to think, stretching one arm along the back of the sofa.

 

“Neither, really. I like animals well enough, but I did have a dog when I was younger,” he replies, thinking that it was a bit of a shame he’d never had much contact with animals after beginning his military career. You hum thoughtfully, cuddling against him comfortably.

 

“I like animals, but never wanted the responsibility of taking care of one, you know? But he was so pathetic, crying in the rain and bleeding, I couldn’t leave him,” you reminisce, petting Cat gently. “I took him to the vet and it just kind of escalated from there,” you finish, chuckling.

 

Reaper hums softly in thought and you can feel him nodding. He says nothing, however, just settles into the sofa cushions comfortably. You can feel the silence get heavier the longer you sit together, but you don’t want it to end. You yawn a little and turn over, pushing Cat into the space between your chest and the edge of the sofa. The tension snaps as you move and Cat whines, the silence comforting.

 

You almost jump out of your skin when you feel his hand in your hair. Instead, you don’t move, sighing in soft contentment. His fingers, tense before, relax against your scalp when you sigh happily. When a finger brushes over the curve of your ear, you get another surprise; his hand is bare. His fingers graze over your skin, through your free hair gently, and the feel of his bare skin makes you shudder.

 

You settle, tilting your head slightly into his delicate caress. A year ago, the thought of anyone touching you like you’re glass, would have made you laugh yourself sick. Now, it sends a heat through your body, making you melt into him like a cat. You feel him chuckle, though you only barely hear it, when his fingers tremble slightly. You haven’t felt this comfortable with another person in a very long time.

 

Suddenly uncomfortable by the intimacy of the situation, you pull away, sitting up. Cat meows angrily and jumps off the sofa. You scratch your arm in embarrassment, glancing over at Reaper. The both of you try to apologise at the same time. You look down and away, rubbing your hair lightly. He has gone quiet so you look up at him, angry at yourself for blushing like a schoolgirl.

 

“It felt nice,” you say, voice soft and shy. “I just,” you hesitate and bite your lip before shrugging. “My partner liked to play with my hair, and I just got hit all of a sudden by emotions.”

 

It wasn’t a lie, though it wasn’t entirely true. You were uncomfortable because it reminded you of your partner, sure, but also because the idea of falling in love with Reaper upset you. Friends were different than lovers, and you weren’t even sure the Reaper had any other friends. Still, saying it aloud swamped you with memories and before you know it your eyes are glittering with unshed tears.

 

“Tell me,” he says after a moment. Despite it being phrased as a command, his tone is apologetic; he’s trying to be comforting, you realise. You chew at your lip, considering how long it’s been since you even said your partner’s name. Finally, you draw your knees up to your chest and everything just spills out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no excuse or explanation.


	5. Chapter 5

You hate being woken up. Well, no, you hate being woken up rudely. For example, right now, as Cat yowls and jumps on your stomach. With a yell, you jerk upwards, feeling a little nauseous as his various paws impact on your bladder and stomach. He yowls again and jumps off you.

 

“What the fuck, you little shit,” you grumble, rolling out of bed and holding your stomach. The first time in a while that you’ve actually remembered to fall asleep in bed and Cat wakes you up by making you almost pee yourself with sheer brute force. Fantastic. Frowning, you stumble after the cat all the way up to the front door.

 

Cat is sitting on the floor directly in front of the door and meowing loudly, deeply upset by something. This makes you forget your tired rage and straighten up. You’d simply collapsed into bed, not bothering to remove most of the knives strapped on your, currently mostly naked, limbs; still you instinctively check for the knives on your thighs and inner arms.

 

Now you wait, feet set carefully and weight dispersed. Cat is a little quieter now, but still spitting mad. Well, you can only train cats so much. Nothing happens. You suppose the cat must have heard something down a couple stairs, though you hadn’t imagined he could hear quite that well. Still, he’s about as well trained as a guard cat as possible for a cat, so you go back to your room and throw open the doors to your closet and go through the cameras.

 

There.

 

A black shadow and? You blink, frowning. A purple haze. That is a purple haze next to a black shadow, a floor down on the stairs and-

 

You turn, forgetting that you’re literally in your underwear, a tanktop, and some knives, and run down the hall. Cat yowls again as you streak past, throwing open the door and sprinting down the hall. You skid to a halt right in front of the stairwell, startling the purple haze into a woman with her arms around the black shadow.

 

“What happened?” You ask immediately, assuming that Sombra has learned that you and the Reaper have been spending time together. The black shadow forms slightly, propped up against Sombra. His mask is cracked and he’s hunched over, one arm curled around his abdomen. You realise that Sombra is a little kicked around too.

 

“Ambush,” Sombra says tiredly as you slide to Reaper’s other side to take some strain off Sombra. “There was nothing we could do until we cut our way out.” You only nod and help them down the hallway into your apartment and to the living room, where both drop onto the sofa in exhausted pain.

 

“Stay here,” you instruct them, though you doubt either are interested in moving. “I have a medkit and some bandages around here somewhere. I’ll get you two patched up, just stay alive for a couple more minutes.”

 

Sombra nods tiredly and flops onto the floor, stretching out and groaning. Reaper only shrugs and curls around the injury in his abdomen. You disappear into the bathroom, searching under the sink counter for the medkit you keep for emergencies. It won’t fix a gut wound but it’ll keep him alive. There’s gauze and painkiller under the sink too, so you grab it. The bandages and disinfectant are in a kitchen cupboard where you’d shoved them after buying them. You hesitate, then search in your junk box for the small sewing kit you keep. You return to find Sombra completely passed out and Reaper close to following.

 

“Hey, hey, no, there’s no sleeping in gut wounds,” you say, trying to keep him awake but still sound soothing. You crouch in front of him and gently touch the cheek of the mask, giving him the medkit. “Here, c’mon, take hold of it. The nanobots will get you patched up enough to let me take over.”

 

He takes it, muttering that he knows that, damn it, just give him the kit. You only chuckle and nod, sighing in relief as the nanobots heal the pieces and disappear under the hand holding the gut wound.

 

“I think you can let go now,” you say, opening the sewing kit. “I need you take off the jacket and,” you hesitate, “hm. The shirt’s gonna need to be dealt with. I don’t think you should test the wound by taking it off,” you mumble, not looking at him as he silently shrugs off his jacket. He tugs at his shirt and groans as the clotted blood resists the fabric. Before you can protest, he simply rips it off, pulling the side of the shirt up so you can access it.

 

You stare at it, swallowing with apprehension. You aren’t a medic. Sure, you can sew up a gash or pull out a bullet. This nasty, already partially infected wound was initially just a bullet wound but now has been ripped open by fighting and moving. Gaping open like this, you aren’t sure the bullet is even still in there, and you didn’t think to grab tweezers either.

 

“What, haven’t you ever seen a stomach wound?” He asks, trying to lighten the mood. You laugh and look away, finding the thickest thread in the little kit and sighing.

 

“Shut up and try to clean up some of that blood, will you? I can’t sew you up if my hands are slipping all over in your blood,” you shoot back, stripping off your tank top to shove it into his free hand. “Use that.”

 

He mumbles something and wipes at his abdomen. You don’t know that he’s flustered; you’re too focused on double threading this needle with thread that’s probably not even supposed to go through this kind of needle head. You don’t know that he’s a bit of a traditionalist and even if he’s bleeding to death right here on your sofa, he’s a little flustered that even though you’re already half naked you are now only in your underwear and don’t seem bothered at all.

 

“Ha, fuck you, you little needle,” you whisper at the needle, tying off the end. You look up at Reaper and grin at him. “Ready for this, Grim Reaper?”

 

He chuckles a little then grunts when you shove the needle through. You pinch his wound together as best you can to keep strain off the thread and shape the skin as you stitch. Through all of it, he only groans once when you get to the largest part of the wound, making the skin pull painfully as you pinch the pieces together.

 

“All done,” you say finally, tying off the thread. “You might want to go to an actual hospital or something though. That’s not surgical thread,” you add, finding the gauze. He shrugs and starts to lower his shirt. “Oh, no, keep that up, we’re wrapping that fucker.”

 

He grunts and stares at you a little, amazed to realise that you’re so snappy because you’re scared, but he lifts his shirt a little higher and leans forward slightly to help you wrap the gauze around his abdomen and pull it tight around the wound.

 

“You should sleep now,” you say, getting up. “The sofa isn’t too comfortable, but if you can walk, you sleep in my bed.”

 

He wants to say that he couldn’t possibly take your bed, he was a guest and then you’d patched his dumb ass back together like it was nothing, but he can’t look at you, so instead he just shrugs. You take this as a ‘sure’ and help him to stand, limping the few feet to your bedroom, where he collapses back onto the bed.

 

“I’m, uh, gonna put pants on. Try to sleep while I see if Sombra has any wounds that need more than a band-aid and some neosporin,” you say, opening a dresser drawer and shimmying into a pair of sweats. “Stay on your back for now. If you move around too much or try to sleep on it, you’ll bleed all over everything. Mattresses are expensive you know.”

 

“Wait,” he says as you turn to leave the room. It makes you smile and him grimace, reminding you both of the event that cemented your friendship. “Thanks,” he grumbles, seeming unused to giving sincere thanks. You turn your head to smile at him and close the door behind you.

 

Talking with Sombra would be interesting to say the least, if she knows who you are, and you must assume she does. You take a deep breath and walk into the living area. She isn’t sleeping anymore, she’s sitting with her back against the sofa, looking at her screens. She glances up at you as you enter.

 

“You were pretty infamous once, Agawaateyaa,” she says, looking back at her screens. “A black hat like the world hadn’t seen yet. I wanted to be you. You disappeared just before this,” she gestures at her integrated system, “and I thought, now’s my chance.”

 

“I’m barely any older than you,” you say, kneeling beside her. “Anything for me to patch up or will you be fine with a little sleep?” She waves you off with a sigh and a shake of the head. You stand, and hesitate, feeling the strange need to explain your disappearance from the hacking world to her. For some reason, hearing your old call sign hurts.

 

“You were the best.”

 

“And now you are,” you reply, shrugging. “Hacking wasn’t my passion it was just a job. When I got a job doing what I loved, how could I say no? You though,” you shrug and stick your hands in the pockets of the sweats, “history will never forget you. You will shape aspiring computer nerds for generations, hackers and others. Me? I only paved the way for someone like you. My work will be tweaked and perfected, changed. You’ll go down in history, Ponzi style.”

 

She’s staring at you; you can feel her eyes on your back. Still, she says nothing, so you walk away. Now, you think, is the perfect time for some alcohol. You can’t look back at her, so you don’t know that she’s smiling now.


	6. Chapter 6

Bright white light, heat, the feeling of your heart pounding in your throat. Then, falling into blackness, suffocating, feeling a life under your fingers, flickering and failing, leeching away. Running, everything sore and the threat of imprisonment and death on your trail. A funeral where you’re forced to speak but all you see is the lifeless face of the person you loved.

 

You jerk awake, suddenly sitting very straight, and startling Cat from his place on your lap. Everything hurts from hunching over to sleep with your arms on the desk. No wonder you had nightmares, especially after hearing police sirens all night. You sigh heavily, sitting up and stretching. Cat meows at you and stalks away. As you stand, you realise you’ve been crying in your sleep. With a grimace, you decide a shower is exactly the kind of distraction you need.

 

Standing in the shower with your head tilted to let the water hit your scalp, you remember. The fire that killed your neighbour and the time you almost drowned. The first time you killed someone. The time before you abandoned your life as a hacker. The funeral. You close your eyes and sit before your knees buckle. The water washes your tears away. One bad day was all it took for every painful memory to come flooding back the moment you let your guard down.

 

Finally, you’re sobbing trails off. With control over your limbs again, you stand and go through the motions of washing your hair, an arduous process, and then your body and face. Once you’ve finished, you stare at the wall for a while, just enjoying the warm water.

 

You’re just getting out of the shower when you hear your door open. Wrapped only in a towel, you consider walking out just to mess with him, but you decide against it. Instead, you walk to the door of your bedroom and stick your head out. There’s Reaper, in a hoodie and jeans, closing the door.

 

“Hey, just give me a sec to put clothes on,” you call to him. He turns to look at you and sees your very wet hair and very bare shoulders. He nods and you think perhaps that he’s blushing, but dismiss the idea as silly. You retreat back into your room to put on sweats and a tanktop, rubbing your hair with the towel.

 

“Hey,” you call down the hall. He looks up from the sofa. You grin at him. “Put on the water while I check my cameras, will you.”

 

“What am I, a butler?” He grumbles as he stands obediently, turning into the kitchen. You smile and turn back into your room. You toss open the closet and go back through the camera footage you’ve missed.

 

Reaper finds you, two mugs in hand, to find you frowning at your screens. He knocks slightly at the door to announce himself and comes in, giving you your tea. You take it in one hand with absent thanks, advancing through the footage from around the building.

 

“Something wrong?” He asks, seeing your frown. You take a sip of your tea and turn the replay off. You didn’t want to tell him that someone’s been scouting your building. Instead you turn and grin at him.

 

“This tea is exactly how I like it. Been paying attention have you?” You tease, taking another sip of the tea and sighing happily. Steeped perfectly, just enough sweetening. He shrugs and you giggle at his obvious shyness.

 

“Hey, wanna see something cool?” You ask, grinning even wider at him. 

 

“Again?” He teases, and you can hear the smile in his voice. You move around him, beckoning for him to follow.

 

You lead him out into the living room and indicate he should sit. You set your tea on the coffee table and rummage through your physical sets of video. Eventually, you find what you want and stick it in. Grabbing your tea again, you flop beside Reaper. He waits, watching the television boot up and the player to begin. Once he recognises the opening, he laughs.

 

His laughter cuts through you hotly and you blush a little, hiding it with a drink of tea. He quiets then, settling down to watch the campy Halloween movie. You’ve picked out movies that would probably have been childhood favourites of your parents. Halloweentown, Hocus Pocus, the like. You’ve also found the Scooby Doo live action movies.

 

You’ve made it through all the Halloweentown movies and are beginning Hocus Pocus when he turns to look at you. The tea is long gone, so you can’t hide the slight blush that comes from the way he’s studying you so intently.

 

“My name is Gabriel,” he says suddenly. You blink at him, slowly turning redder. “I know I’m guarded, but I want,” he hesitates, “to be your friend. You trusted me, to tell me about your partner. My name is Gabriel Reyes.”

 

You blanche, startled into shocked silence. Gabriel Reyes? The Reyes? Blackwatch commander and international scandal Gabriel Reyes is the infamous terrorist Reaper? Without meaning to, you reach out and touch his mask gently. He stiffens but when you don’t try to remove it, he relaxes again. You know approximately what he looks like now. Black you had seen, heard a couple Spanish expletives, but the Reyes?

 

You shift your hand to rest your palm against the cheek of the mask. Looking up into where his eyes should be, you feel something. Pain, insecurity, vulnerability. You’re surprised to feel tears in your eyes. You can see him fidget in surprise and slight panic, so you lean up and kiss the mask gently.

 

“Thank you for trusting me,” you whisper, dropping your hand. “Do you still want me to call you Reaper?”

 

He hesitates. You can’t possibly know that under his mask he’s slowly turning maroon, or as much as he can anymore, and staring at you in surprise. He hadn’t expected you to ask, or rather he hadn’t thought this far. It’d been sort of spur of the moment as he’d remembered how vulnerable you’d looked telling him about your partner.

 

“That’s, uh, yeah that’s fine,” he says finally, You nod and smile, wiping at your eyes. He turns back to the TV, feeling somehow lighter. Conversely, you feel as if you’ve been entrusted with a great responsibility, though for the life of you, you can’t actually figure out what that responsibility could be.

 

Instead of dwelling, you cuddle into the lap blanket you have awkwardly wrapped around you, watching the movie in front of you while thinking. He had trusted you because you had trusted him, that you understand. To tell him the things you had, he must have realised that you thought of him as a true friend, and had decided this was how to tell you the same. Still, it felt strangely more intimate than even that.


	7. Chapter 7

The moment you walk into the hallway outside your apartment, you can tell something is wrong. Nervous now, you move your groceries to one arm and punch in your code. The door opens and the smell of gas hits you full in the face. You drop the groceries.

 

“Cat!” You yell into the apartment, taking two steps before he leaps from the top of a bookshelf into your arms. He crawls up your shoulder to twine around your neck as you slam the door closed.

 

You reach up and grab him down from your shoulders, cradling him tight against your chest as you make for the stairs, groceries forgotten. You get to the end of the hall when your apartment explodes, throwing you face first into the wall. The cat yowls and you can feel your nose breaking but none of that matters until you're both out of the building.

 

The fire alarm is blaring and making the cat scream. You think his tail is a little scorched but there's no 

. You take the steps down two at a time, pushing past panicked residents. Panting, you only slow once you've gone half a block away from the now burning building. You set Cat down and sit down hard in the grass.

 

“Why did it have to be fire?” You whisper, dropping your head into your hands as memories of a burning childhood home fill your mind. You scream when a hand touches your shoulder.

 

The hand jerks back and you scramble around to look up at a willowy figure all in black. You've never seen this person in your life but instinct tells you not to trust her.

 

“You might want to come with me,” she says. Your scream has set your cat on edge and the tone of her voice makes him hiss.

 

“Why?”

 

“We can discuss that while we walk.”

 

“I'd rather discuss it now,” you reply, standing. You've been called paranoid but it's never been a detriment, all the weapons you have secreted away on your person and you're intensely grateful for them now.

 

“I have a proposition for you,” the woman sighs.

 

She doesn't see Reaper materialise behind her but you do.

 

“What kind of proposition?” You ask, sliding your hand in your jacket to clutch hold of a knife.

 

“The kind it would be very unhealthy to refuse.”

 

“I refuse,” you say, shrugging and bending down to pick up the cat. You hear both of them move. She pulls a gun, you think, then she freezes and you know Reaper’s is pressed to her back. You let the cat climb onto your shoulders as you straighten, noticing that his tail is a little blackened.

 

“I don't think a tranquilizer is much use to you dead,” Reaper growls into her ear. You're still smiling politely at her as she drops the tranquilizer gun.

 

“What was that about unhealthy?” You can't help but ask, seeing her grimace. You hear Reaper chuckle roughly. “Perhaps you would like to come with us,” you add. “I also have a proposition.”

 

“Would this proposition happen to be talk or die?” She asks. You smile at her. It is not a very nice smile.

 

“We can discuss that while we walk, now can't we?” You think she almost spits in your face. You're not normally this mean but you hate being threatened. Your many years of programming for various secret programs and illegal organizations have made you sharp and cold in the face of danger but as you walk away from your apartment you come to the distinct realization that you have nowhere to go now.

 

You take a step closer to Reaper, making sure your hands are in his view to sign, “where?” One handed, he reaches over as if to put a hand on your shoulder comfortingly, trust me, and he pets the cat on your shoulders instead. He doesn’t ask how you know military sign.

 

Instead, you stick the side of one hand into your mouth and use the other to remold the smashed cartilage of your nose. Blood that had been caught in the back of your throat, starts pouring out of your nose in time with tears. You bite down hard on your hand with the pain, breaking the skin on your hand, but you don’t crack your teeth or bite off your tongue, so you call this a win.

 

Cat is meowing at you angrily, but hasn’t moved from your tense shoulders. You shake the blood off your hands and scratch his head. He meows again, still angry, but quiets now he’s been comforted.

 

Unsure where you’re going, you look around as you walk in step beside Reaper. He takes you towards a hotel, which surprises you. It’s a nice hotel, too, the fancy kind you’ve never stayed at because it seems wasteful. Instead of going in, he pushes your charge around into an alley. There, you stop.

 

“Talk, while we’re waiting for my ride,” he growls at her. The cold anger in his voice sends a shudder through you, a strange mix of fear and petty pleasure. As casually as possible, you lean against the wall of the alleyway to keep watch. Cat meows angrily at the feeling of brick and jumps down. He wanders around sniffing and exploring the new area.

 

You sigh and tilt your head back against the wall, only half paying attention to Reaper trying to get the woman to speak. You hated fire, your face was throbbing, Cat was missing fur on his tail, you could feel a migraine starting at the back of your head, and you’re tired. It’s been one hell of a day already and it’s barely past noon.

 

“-skills!” You hear the woman wail, and look over. She’s sobbing now, collapsed on the ground. Reaper doesn’t even have a weapon out anymore, he’s just watching her impassively. “They needed a hacker and they wanted to upgrade their firewalls, I guess they thought they could,” the woman cuts off sharply when you snort, shaking your head in bitter amusement.

 

“I’m not a hacker,” you tell her calmly. She stops crying for a moment, looking at you wide eyed, then breaks down into wailing sobs, trembling.

 

“I just needed the money!” She bawls, burying her face in her hands. “I was just supposed to get you to come to the drop site! I didn’t know you were being protected by, by, him!” She stutters at the end, glancing up at Reaper and cringing. She breaks down entirely, too busy sobbing to speak.

 

You pity her, you realise suddenly. Looking at her snotty, full body crying, you can’t help it. Sighing, you rub the heel of your hand into your eyebrow, trying to ward off the migraine. She looked like she couldn’t be more than twenty-five, probably recently graduated and trying to keep her feet under her.

 

“Unfortunate,” you say, shaking your head. “Because now we’re in a predicament. I would love to let you go since you’re so young, but most likely your employer will kill you once it’s revealed you’ve failed. You can’t come with us unless you have more information, but we can’t just leave your corpse in this alleyway.”

 

She stares up at you, tears and snot streaming down her face but completely silent. She shakes her head lightly; she has no more information. You can see that she’s completely accepted that she’s going to die here. That just makes it worse somehow. You grimace and sigh heavily, beckoning Reaper closer to you. He obeys.

 

“I suppose you have a way to get rid of her body? I’ll kill her; those shotguns will make too much mess.” You’re surprised by how steady your voice is, despite saying you were going to take a life. He nods and pulls out his phone.

 

You walk over to her and crouch down beside her. She stares at you, watching your hands intently as you unstrap a knife from your wrist. The knives at your wrists are paper thin, made to cut through anything with as little effort as possible. Nowadays, you mostly use them to open letters and shit like that.

 

Hesitantly, you reach out and stroke her hair lightly, comforting her, distracting her. She looks up into your eyes with a last bit of defiance. That’s fine, you think. If you’re going to kill her just for needing some quick cash, she deserves to have you watch the life drain from her eyes. She doesn’t feel the knife enter her ear and pierce her brain. Her eyes widen then she slackens as they go dark.

“Widow will be here in a moment with her car. Someone’s coming for the body,” he stops and helps you stand. You hadn’t realised you were shaking. “Are you okay?” He asks quietly. You sigh and shake your head.

 

“No. I won’t be for a while. It’s been a long time since I’ve,” you cut off as your voice cracks and your eyes sting. He nods and pulls you close against him. You hesitate, then bury your face in his shoulder. You don’t cry, just stand there feeling him against you and slowly composing yourself. Crying can come later. Now, you need to find stay sharp, just in case.

 

You step back and look up at him to thank him when you hear a car pull up outside the alley. Looking over, you can’t help but smile. What else would Widowmaker drive except a flashy mustang hybrid? She looks amazing in the front seat, too, dressed in the stylish black sunglasses and expensive clothes of the kind of person that would own a car like this.

 

“That is not going in my car,” she says, glancing at the corpse. “I’m being gracious letting the cat come. These are real leather seats.” Her lips are pursed in a well bred pout, but there’s a barely there hint of a smile in her voice and you immediately like her.

 

Reaper walks away to talk to her while you look around for Cat. He’s kneading in a pile of dirt, sharpening his claws on the rough gravel. You frown at him.

 

“Cat! Come here you dirty little brat. How can you be sharpening your claws when you just got your tail half burned off, huh?” You scold, even as he comes bounding over and leaps straight onto your shoulders. “It’s a good thing you have separation anxiety or I could never train a cat to come when called,” you grumble at him, turning back to see Reaper and Widow staring at you. “What?” You snap, blushing. Widow shakes her head innocently as Reaper looks away, opening the backseat door for you.

 

You glower at them a moment longer and get in. The interior is just as flashy and expensive as the exterior, but the leather is warm enough to be comforting and there’s a soft breeze right on your face from the backseat A/C. Cat curls up in your lap once you have your seatbelt on, looking up at you pitifully because you both know he gets car sick. Reaper closes the door as you pet the cat soothingly.

 

To your surprise, Reaper gets in beside you in the backseat. You look over at him but he only shrugs, reaching over to pet Cat’s head. You smile tiredly at him and lean back into the seat. Now you’re not distracted, your feet start to hurt and the migraine starts to assert itself. Widow pulls away from the alley as you close your eyes and let exhaustion take you.


	8. Chapter 8

The cat’s whiskers tickling your face wake you. Groaning, you push his face away from yours. As you open your eyes, you realise that you’re in a dark room, tucked into a soft bed. Shivering for some reason, you sit up slowly. Looking around, you see a room that could have been unused except for the posters of places in France on one wall. This must be Widow’s room, logic tells you.

 

It all comes crashing back. The fire, the fear, the death. Meeting Widowmaker. You gasp, the wind knocked out of you as though you’d been punched in the gut. How could you have forgotten?

 

“At least I must’ve slept off that migraine,” you tell Cat, petting him to soothe the trembling in your arms. It’s true; your head doesn’t hurt at all. You contribute this to the cool, dark room, considering you hadn’t taken any medication. He meows at you and curls up in your lap. He starts to purr when you scratch his head.

 

Just as the door is opening, you bend to bury your face in the cat’s fur. You turn your head to look with one eye. The reasonable light outside was blinding compared to the dark you’d woken to, but you’d recognise that ponytail anywhere.

 

“It is good you are awake. Reaper is speaking with Akande about letting you stay here until you are safe,” Widow tells you.When you remember that the man who has the Doomfist gauntlet now is named Akande, you piece together that Reaper and Sombra are probably the only one’s here that don’t widely go by their real names. Of course, your rational self scoffs, most people don’t go by their call signs in casual conversation.

 

“Thank you,” you say, gathering Cat into your arms. “Um, sorry for taking your bed.” you mumble, half a question. She shrugs dismissively as you stand. “Can I see him, maybe? Or Sombra, if he’s still busy with, um, Akande,” you ask, letting the cat crawl up around your shoulders.

 

“Come with me. We’ll see if he’s done yet,” she tells you, turning on heel. You hurry after her.

 

Widowmaker leads you down several hallways. You get strange looks from recruits, but no sane underling is going to challenge her, so you walk through unscathed. It looks like many mercenary compounds you’ve seen, but also oddly militaristic with training yards that have actual instructors and everyone except the biggest bads are wearing uniforms.

 

You catch sight of yourself in a darkened window and almost stop dead at how absolutely wrecked you look. Your skin has gone ashy under the brown with exhaustion and stress, your clothes are a little scorched, your hair is messy, and there’s a bloodstain on your jeans from where you’d absent-mindedly wiped off your knife. Not to mention that because of your broken nose, your eyes are red and puffy, bruises already forming under your eyes and along the inside of your cheekbones.

 

“God, this is going to be a disaster to fix,” you mumble, running a hand through your hair. Widowmaker smiles at you sympathetically.

“No doubt with hair that thick, it is more difficult to manage than mine despite being shorter,” she says. You chuckle ruefully.

 

“Yeah, it’s still growing back after I cut it for the funeral. You know, one of the things they suggest for hair like mine is to use horse shampoo. It’s just too thick and coarse to use regular shampoo. Some black owned businesses have shampoo’s that come close but,” you sigh in defeat, wishing you had bothered to put your hair in two braids like you usually do when you go out.

 

“Where are you from?” She asks casually, leading you down a set of stairs. You look at her back for a long moment, trying to figure out why she’d asked.

 

“Well, I was born in Red Rock, in Ontario, but I moved all over until I had to leave. Then I was in the US for a while, until I got a job offer in Austria. Been moving all over Europe since then. Viesite is the longest I’ve ever settled down somewhere,” you trail off, thinking of the painting you’d lost. You know she has no idea where Red Rock is, and you assume she assumes ‘job offer’ is code for forced to flee. “But not anymore I guess,” you add belatedly.

 

“We are actually just outside Kaunas, now.”

 

“We’re in Lithuania now, huh?” You mumble to yourself, thinking that they must be all over the place. “It’s a three hour drive. How long was I out?” You ask suddenly.

 

“Only about five,” she tells you, pushing open the door to the stairwell and leading you out. “Not bad, considering your life just got kicked in the balls, no?”

 

You look at her, startled to hear humour in her voice. She only looks back at you impassively. You grin at her and she winces; your eyes probably look really bad when you smile like that. “Yeah, not bad. Passed out for like four days after a fire when I was a kid.”

 

You don’t tell her that you had nearly died and were hysterical, put into a short medical coma so the doctors could actually treat the burns that nearly took your left leg. She doesn’t ask and you don’t expect her to.

 

There’s a short, uncomfortable moment where you stare at each other, standing awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs. The moment is shattered by a man opening the door and pushing past the two of you. Amelie blinks at you then turns on heel, leading you down the hallway. She pauses at a door to listen. You can only hear low mumbling but whatever she hears makes her shake her head.

 

“Sombra’s workspace is on this floor as well,” Amelie comments, leading you away from the door. You only shrug and trail after her, glancing back at the door once. It’s just a door, but somehow it’s intimidating knowing that Reaper is arguing for you life, hyperbolically you hope. You pinch the bridge of your nose tiredly and immediately regret it when you gasp. Amelie pauses and looks at you.

 

“Managed to forget that I just broke my nose,” you explain, rolling your eyes at yourself. Amelie nods and continues down the hallway. Eyes watering, you follow her, trying to wipe your eyes without poking too much at the bruising. Amelie shoves open a door and you are assaulted by purple lights, making your eyes water all over again.

 

“Ah! Knock first, would you?” Sombra grumbles, squinting at the two of you. She blinks then and stands. “Whoa, what happened to your face?”

 

“Thanks,” you grumble, rubbing carefully at your eyes. “Listen, this isn’t about my broken nose. I need to borrow a screen. I’ve got someone to harass,” you say, adding the end in a hard voice that makes her raise her eyebrows.

 

“Well, when you say it like that, how can I refuse?” Sombra chuckles, waving Amelie away. She glowers at Sombra then resumes her neutral expression and leaves. Sombra points you to a computer in the corner. You settle yourself into the corner and sigh. Sombra looks over at you and notices something that makes her frown but she says nothing.

 

You get absorbed in breaking into the systems of the company that tried to kidnap you. The firewalls could have stopped someone else, you suppose, but not you or Sombra. It feels gross hacking again so soon after killing someone when the very same was the reason you stopped hacking in the first place. There’s several layers of regular company files, employee lists and accounting records and the like, but deeper than that you find a firewall that does not want to be cracked.

 

You can feel a layer of grime on your skin and your soul but, punching through elite firewalls still feels good, even after all this time, especially because it’s such a hard won fight for this firewall. You laugh under your breath and sift through files, sorting between encrypted files and the open. You glance through a couple personnel files and note a few names you recognise for later thought. You find nothing of interest in the files that aren’t encrypted; so what if they’re stealing from the company accounts, every CEO is. With a deep breath, you begin the process of decrypting the files.

 

Sombra nearly jumps out of her skin when you shout in anger. She settles and looks over at you, cursing violently under your breath and lapsing into different languages to expand your cursing abilities. She recognises a particularly vitriolic Russian insult and decides to see what’s up.

 

“Got shut down?” Sombra asks, leaning over your shoulder to look. You say nothing, waiting for her to realise that you’ve actually done the opposite, decrypting every file in front of you. She frowns and leans on your shoulder, reaching down to pet Cat in your lap. “So what’s up?”

 

After a moment, she straightens and curses violently in what sounds like four different languages. You drop your head into your hands and groan loudly. The company is a carefully hidden subsidiary of Lumerico. No wonder you had so much issue with the firewall.

 

You sigh and lean back, stretching your arms as high as you can over our head and feeling everything crack back into place. Sombra rubs a hand down her face and puts a hand on your shoulder. You look up at her and realise that she looks more tired than earlier. How long have you been at this?

 

“With the two of us, Lumerico better prepare themselves for all out war,” Sombra tells you. It’s strange, feeling so connected with her suddenly, seeing her so serious. Her squinted eyes and the way her hand tightens on your shoulder lights a fire in you.

 

“Does Lumerico have some kind of rivalry with Talon or something?”

 

“Yes,” a voice says behind you, making both of you jump and turn. You’ve never seen him in person, but that is Doomfist. He’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, staring at you. You cough a little, noticing two things immediately; the slight frown and the giant muscles. He could crush your skull in his bare hands.

 

“So they thought they could kill two birds with one stone. Get an in on one of Talon’s heavy hitters and upgrade their firewalls in one go. But how did they know? I’ve been messing with the CCTV around my apartment.” You frown thoughtfully and bite at your thumbnail. “Or maybe I’m giving them too much credit,” you mumble, wincing when the side of your nail cracks. You’d been trying to stop biting your nails.

 

Akande straightens and drops his arms to his sides, stepping into the room. Sombra tightens her hand on your shoulder protectively. “That makes you a liability,” he says, looking down at you. You catch and hold his gaze and feel him weighing you. There’s a tiny sparkle in his eye. Sombra’s hand loosens on your shoulder and you know she can see it too.

 

“I mean, Talon is a terrorist organisation. Everyone is a liability,” you tell him, raising an eyebrow teasingly. He frowns at you intimidatingly for a moment then laughs when you don’t waver and instead smile a little.

 

“I guess there’s no choice but to keep you here then,” he says casually, shrugging. You and Sombra grin at each other; it’s obvious he had no real intention of kicking you out.

 

“At least until Sombra and I eliminate any trace of me,” you say, shrugging. “Once I disappear, Sombra and I can take out Lumerico by ourselves, with a little creative media work.”

 

“Oh really?” Akande says, not seeming condescending just interested. Sombra nods and takes a step towards him, calling up a screen. You turn back to the computer you’d borrowed and begin to download the server.

 

“You just have to destroy an economy to destroy a country. It’s the same thing with any organisation really,” Sombra starts, pulling a few things up on the screen to show him. You ignore them now, working on compressing the files you need and changing the encryption code within the server, just as a last little fuck you.

 

“I have the files on your server now, Sombra. I decrypted everything already. What time is it?” You say, standing and cracking your neck tiredly. Cat jumps off your lap and curls around your ankles.

 

“Almost midnight,” Sombra says, glancing at a small screen. You whistle softly. No wonder you were so tired. You sigh and rub the small of your back. Cat whines at you and you lean down to pick him up and put him on your shoulders.

 

“So, do I get a guest room?” You ask Akande, looking over at him with a small smile. He considers for an exaggerated moment then jerk his head.

 

“Come with me,” he instructs, walking out of the room. Sombra wiggles her fingers in a goodbye, flopping into a cot you hadn’t noticed before shoved into the corner of the room. You glance back at her with a small smile and catch up to Akande.

 

Watching his back is an interesting experience. His shirt strains against his musculature and you can’t deny you’re distracted by the way his shirt moves against his back and biceps. You take a deep breath and sigh, hoping it comes out tired and not as sexually uncomfortable. God, these people are going to kill you. Sombra is such an aesthetic that it hurts, even blue Amelie is one of the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen, and now this.

 

“Is something wrong?” He asks, not looking back at you. He doesn’t sound concerned exactly, just interested. You blink and shrug, looking around at the hallway around you. You realise he can’t actually see you.

 

“No, just tired. I did just break my nose and watch my complex burn down,” you say, fighting back a yawn. He snorts and leads you down a set of stairs. You smile a little, scratching Cat’s head. Terrorists or not, everyone seems reasonably nice. Akande leads you back up to the hallway where Amelie had woken you.

 

“Here,” he tells you, opening the door to a room near the stairwell. It’s a bare-bones room like a hotel room mixed with barracks. Bare walls and military corners on the bed sheets but they’re nice blankets and the chair for the desk on the far wall looks comfortable. You flip on the lights and turn to smile at him.

 

“Thank you. I do appreciate not being kicked out on my ass,” you say, pushing Cat off your shoulders so he can explore the new room.

 

“Well, I can’t just kick you out or Sombra and Reaper will both be pissy,” he replies, shrugging. You pause and look into his eyes, searching. He wants what’s best for people, you realise. You break out into a sincere smile, startling him into smiling back.

 

“Oh come on. You can’t say no to that,” you comment, gesturing to your Cat. “Look at his poor tail.”

 

Akande laughs and shakes his head. “The code is 47HB9. This hallway has a couple guest rooms and the important operatives. Amelie is over there, in theory Sombra is down there, Adrianna is way down at the end of the hall, Gabriel’s is right across from you.”

 

You nod, memorising everything, then blink and blush. The room right across from yours. Akande watches you impassively but there’s a tiny smirk on his lips that almost turns you maroon.

 

“Excuse me, just what do you think our relationship is, sir?” You ask indignantly, laughing a little to downplay your embarrassment. He laughs as well and you can see in face he doesn’t realise you’re embarrassed. “Now shoo. I’m gonna shower. Unless you want to see me naked?” You say it almost like an invitation and you’re not sure it’s not. He chuckles and walks away. “I’d want to see me naked,” you call after him. “There’s no shame in it.”

 

He doesn’t turn back to you but you can almost feel him rolling his eyes in amusement. You grin and close the door, turning to walk into the room. It really does feel like a hotel room. The closet door is slightly ajar. Thinking Cat had pawed his way in, you walk over and open it. Immediately you notice three things; clothes, your old blue computer tower, and the slightly charred canvas of your funeral painting.

 

You step back, tears already streaming down your face. The canvas frame is gone, the edges are charred and one side is ripped but it’s there, it’s mostly whole. The tower you’d refused to give up for almost twenty years now, spending more money than necessary on keeping it upgraded piece by piece. The clothes weren’t yours but they looked new, looked the right size.

 

Sitting down hard on the floor, you stare into the closet. How? How? Your flat had exploded for God’s sake. It should have started in the kitchenette given the scent of the gas, the painting should be dust. It doesn’t feel real. He hadn’t had anything that you can remember seeing when he’d helped you with that woman. So how?

 

Slowly, you get to your feet. Reaching out to touch the painting takes everything you have. It feels real. The whirl of the acrylics, the rough canvas, the feeling of slightly burned fabric on the edges. It all feels real to the touch. You seize a pair of sweats and a tanktop and flee into the bathroom.

 

Cat whines at you when you close and lock the door but you don’t care. It’s cool and dark in the bathroom. The bath looks comfortable and the towels on the rack are fluffy and green. You strip and turn the water on as hot as it goes, stepping into the shower. It hurts a little and it’s bad for your hair.

 

The idea that someone would like you enough to risk themself to get the two physical things that matter the most to you, rocks you to the core. It’s been a long time since you’ve been in love, since you’ve had a best friend or any family. Mechanically, you go through the motions of washing using the tiny hotel brand soaps in the shower. You’re too lost in thought to luxuriate in the feeling of the soot and smoke washing off your skin.

 

You dry off and run your fingers through your hair. It’s still a mess, but at least you can braid it. It takes time, getting as much water as possible out of your hair before braiding it, but it feels good to have it braided again. Staring at your naked, braided self in the mirror, you’re struck again by how horrible your face looks with that black eye and the swollen nose.

 

“At least my hair doesn’t look like a tumbleweed anymore,” you tell Cat as you unlock and open the bathroom door. He meows at you angrily. You kneel down and he leaps into your arms. “I’m sorry baby,” you whisper, burying your face in his fur. “I’ll see if there’s some fish or something in the little fridge.” You rub your hands through his fur one more time before standing.

 

The kitchenette thing does not have fish but it does have wet cat food. An unopened box of it, to be exact, in one of the cupboards. There’s also a box of poptarts in the same cupboard. You can’t help but smile as you open the can, even though wet cat food smells so weird.

 

You eat three things of poptarts and Cat eats two whole cans of wet food. The first sleeve of poptarts you eat as is, not bothering to toast them, then toast the next two. Once the edge is gone, you put on the tank top and you and Cat collapse into the bed. Sleep comes as the fast, dreamless sleep of exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> actually i do have an excuse and it's that i havent had reliable internet. but i had word. dunno if i'll keep going but here it is.

**Author's Note:**

> Something I worked on as a warm-up that went too far. I might add to this because I do have a few thoughts, but honestly I dunno. hmu with suggestions for another chapter maybe.
> 
> update: edited a little for clarification and ease.


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